


Labyrinthine

by amysfall



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, TW: suicidal thoughts, tw: asylum, tw: attempted murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amysfall/pseuds/amysfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy wakes up in her own bed after Manhattan. Except the year is different, and something she can't quite put her finger on crawls in the back of her mind. And why doesn't Rory remember any of it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Visions

"Amy… AMY…. WAKE UP!"

Rory shook his wife awake. She was thrashing and screaming and crying, which was very unlike her. Amy never cried.

"Amy, what’s going on?"

His wife suddenly opened her eyes. “Rory, you’re okay!” She pulled him into the biggest hug, even bigger than the one after they were married.

"Yeah, I’m fine… why?"

Amy frowned and looked at him. “You don’t remember?”

"Remember what?"

"New York, the angels, River?"

"Amy, you just woke, up. Let’s get you some tea." Rory took her hand and began to bring her to the kitchen, but Amy pulled away.

"Rory, you died. Twice. And earlier, when we were younger, but why…."

"You were asleep, Amy. It was all a dream. Just a dream."

"No. I saw it! I felt it! I… I cried."

"It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare."

"But—"

"Let’s get you some tea."

Amy followed Rory into the kitchen, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that he didn’t remember it. You can’t just forget an event like that.

Rory put a cup of tea and some toast in front of her and sat down opposite her. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

"What year is it?"

"What?"

"Right now, Rory. What’s the year?"

"1945."

Amy’s eyes became wider.

"Tell me what happened, Amy!" Rory was getting impatient.

"Well, it was 2012—"

"2012! Blimey, and you thought this was real?"

"Rory!"

"Sorry, go on."

"And we were in New York. And there were these… stone angels. And they moved every time you blinked."

Rory shuddered.

"And one touched you. And when it touches you, it sends you back in time. So it sent you to 1938. April 3. And we met our daughter, River Song—"

"We had a daughter? And we called her River Song? Some nightmare…"

"Anyways, she got me to 1938, where we jumped off a building to create a time paradox that would erase the angels from Manhattan. Oh, and the Statue of Liberty moved."

"You said I died twice?"

"Yeah, you were sent back before and we didn’t rescue you so you watched yourself die… I got a bit lost at that part. Oh, and we woke up in a graveyard in 2012 again and you saw your own gravestone, so the angel touched you because you had to die once you read that you were dead. And then I sacrificed myself to be with you and I woke up in bed. Here. In 1945."

"I think I’ve heard quite eno—"

"Oh, and there was this book that said everything that was going to happen. It was written by River. Oh, and there was this… man."

Rory was suddenly more interested. “A man? What man?”

"He was our friend. He… wore a bowtie… and had flippy hair… and I think he was River’s husband."

Rory relaxed. “Just a friend, then?”

Amy frowned. “Who was just a friend?”

"Um, the bowtie man. River’s husband. You were just talking about him!"

"No, I wasn’t. What are you saying?"

Rory didn’t know what was going on. It was too much for the early hour.

"Let’s get you back to bed, okay?"

Amy willingly went back to sleep, leaving Rory to ponder what the hell was going on.


	2. Chapter 2

A couple of weeks went by, and Rory didn’t detect any more suspicious behavior from Amy. His job at the local hospital was going fine. Well, as fine as it could, in the aftermath of a war.

It was June 26, and, to celebrate their wedding anniversary, Rory bought Amy a typewriter. “For you to write all of your opinion articles on,” he said, smiling.

Amy looked at it with determination. “Oh, I’m putting this to a much better use than opinion articles.” She smiled. “I’m going to write a detective novel.”

And that was the last Rory saw of her for a few days.

She stayed in the sewing room, mostly. Rory assumed that she ate when he was at work. On Day 4, however, Rory wanted to see her.

He knocked twice.

Nothing.

Twice again.

"Come in."

Rory entered to see the room scattered with paper. The bin was full of crumpled up papers, and Amy had a stack of typed pages next to her on the desk.

"Can I?" Rory gestured to the pile. Amy nodded, not looking up from her work.

He picked it up. “Melody Malone, sole owner and employee of the Angel Detective Agency. Also know as the detective that investigates angels.” Rory shook his head. “When is this thing set?”

"1938." Amy didn’t look up from her typewriter.

"But that’s the same year as…"

"Well, what do you think this novel is about?"

"So where is this Melody Malone in your dream?"

"She’s River Song. Figured I’d change the name to avoid confrontation."

"Amy, you do know that River Song isn’t real, right? We… don’t have children."

"Yeah, we do." Amy stopped typing and stood up. "I gave birth to her."

"Amy, you…" Rory took a deep breath. "We’ve tried, remember? It didn’t work."

"Yeah, well, maybe YOU don’t remember her, but I do."

"All right. Well, I’m just going to, erm, leave you to your thoughts." Rory slowly backed out of the room and shut the door behind him.

 _I’ll give it a few more weeks. See if she wants to publish the book. See if she still believes that this actually happened. See if it’s just a coping mechanism for Luke…_ Rory jumped out of his thoughts. Luke!

He burst open the door. Amy was barely perturbed by it, and continued typing.

"Amy, do you remember, Luke? Your brother?"

"No. I don’t have brothers. Or sisters."

"But this is Luke we’re talking about. Do you remember anything?"

"I don’t know who Luke is." Amy looked Rory straight in the face. "I’m sorry, but I don’t."

"He died, Amy. He died in the war."

"I’m sorry for this Luke and his family, but I don’t know him."

"Okay. Good luck writing." Rory left for the kitchen and made himself tea.

He had only just set his tea down when Amy came running into the room. “I remember him. I remember Luke. My brother. We lived with my aunt. He went off to war the second it started. And he… died last year.”

Rory was relieved. “Good, I thought you’d forgotten for a second.”

"Me too." Amy truly laughed for the first time in a week or so. "I’m writing this book. Not exactly sure where I got the idea from, though."

 _The world works in strange ways,_ Rory thought as he nodded blankly.


	3. Escape

Amy finished her book in a week.

300 pages of a dream, which, according to Rory, couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes.

It was crazy and mad, an experience out of a child’s nightmare. And terrifying. Absolutely petrifying.

Still, Rory went to the local post office to mail off the print to the nearest publisher in London. A week later, the Ponds received a letter; the book was being published.

Amy couldn’t contain her excitement, and, good thing for Rory, she talked about her book, not her dream, whenever she discussed the now-infamous story.

"Now everyone will know! My story! People will talk about my characters, everything. This is so cool!" She was acting like an over-excited five-year-old, something Rory hadn’t seen her do in a while.

He was so thankful for it.

Once day, they received another letter, asking them to come to London and check out the publishing company. According to the letter, the publishers were quite excited about the book.

“‘It seems like a very exciting and intriguing plot, and we’re sure it will sell phenomenally.’ Wow, they actually like it; they like it a lot!” Amy was overjoyed.

"It says here that the travel, hotel, and dining expenses are paid for. Thanks for writing such a great book, Amy. We can have a vacation!"

Amy hit Rory playfully on the shoulder. “You can thank me once we get there, stupid face.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

They arrived in London the next Thursday. It was like a breath of fresh air. The people, the view, the constant movement.

It was a getaway.

The Ponds had a few days before their meeting with the publishing company, so they spent their time walking around, eating in small cafés, shopping for posh clothing that they may only wear once, riding around in a beat up old taxi.

This was living: escaping from life.

But it was Monday soon enough. That morning, Amy got up very early, took the rollers out of her hair, and put on her best dress, one she had bought the previous day. It was red and flowing, and she had paired it with a trench coat like the one Melody wore in her book.

Rory emerged from the bathroom a few minutes after Amy had started to make tea in the hotel-provided pot.

"Ready to go, mister?" Rory was wearing a brown, pinstriped suit that, in Amy’s opinion, made him look even more handsome than he already was.

"Ready to go, ma’am."

She handed him a cup of tea, which they both took a second to drink, then followed each other out of the hotel and down the block.

The publishers were only three blocks away, so they ended up being ten minutes early for their meeting.

"Feeling okay?" Rory asked Amy, who was fiddling with her hands.

"Yeah, just nervous."

"I’ll be there the whole time," he said. "I’m not leaving you."

Amy remembered.

_He was a Roman. A Roman. She was dead. She was in a box, surrounded by light._

_"2000 years," said a distant voice. She recognized that voice, but couldn’t put a face to it…_

_"I’m not leaving her."_

_Rory was plastic, but it didn’t mean he could last forever._

"You okay?"

Amy snapped out of her daydream. “Yeah, just thinking.”

"Time to go."

The meeting went swimmingly. The publishers, Miranda and Ralph, were very nice, and equally as excited about how the book would sell. They said it would only be a matter of time until it would be ready to go; by August or September, even. It was a perfect day.

Well, almost perfect.

The Ponds walked out of the meeting feeling confident, the prospect of success lingering in the air, barely close enough to touch.

_Touch._

Suddenly, she saw it.

Sharp and grey, it was lurking on a street corner, on the side of a building. Its hands covered its face, and its wings curved in an almost holy manner.

An angel.

Amy screamed and hugged Rory.

"KEEP LOOKING AT IT. DON’T TAKE YOUR EYES OFF IT, KEEP STARING!"

Rory hugged her back, but said, “What am I staring at?”

"The angel! The stone angel, there, on that corner." Amy pointed at the said corner.

"Amy, love, there’s nothing there…"

"I see it, I see it, I… cannot… blink." And immediately after she said it, naturally, she blinked.

And screamed.

"OH MY GOD IT’S RIGHT THERE."

"Where?"

"RIGHT IN FRONT OF US." Amy put a hand out to stop Rory from walking forward. "You can’t move, just stare… please."

People were starting to watch them now.

"Amy, there isn’t anything there. It’s okay, you’re just… nervous. Seeing things. Think about Melod—"

"RIVER ISN’T HERE NOW, STUPID. SHE CAN’T HELP."

Rory was hurt. It wasn’t her, but it still hurt.

"Amy, I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go. Think of Luke. Think of the bowtie man."

Amy shook her head. “Bowtie man… BOWTIE MAN, YOU CAN’T HELP US NOW. COME ON, DREAM MAN, WHERE ARE YOU?”

"Amy, he’s not here."

Amy shook her head again. “Who isn’t?”

"The bowtie man."

"What bowtie man?"

"We just— oh, never mind. Can you still see the angel?"

"Angel? Silly Rory, those are just in my book."

"Right, love, sorry."

They went home immediately.

And the minute they got back to their house, Rory turned to her.

"Amy, I love you, and I’m really, really sorry about this."

"About wh—"

A sharp pain, then the dark.


End file.
